Mid-Life Crisis, or The Telling of Long Stories
by Tinka
Summary: There comes a time in every man's life when he has to reconsider the past in order to understand the present. So, the guy starts making phone calls .. and some things may not be as they seem


TITLE: Mid-Life Crisis, or the Telling of Long Stories (1/1)  
AUTHOR: Tinka (tinka100@hotmail.com)  
CLASSIFICATION: Story, implied MSR  
RATING: G  
SPOILERS: Requiem  
SUMMARY: There comes a time in every man's life when he has to  
reconsider the past in order to understand the present. So, the guy  
starts making phone calls .. and some things may not be as they seem.  
ARCHIVE: Bluefroggie & Gossamer, yes. All others, please ask.  
DISCLAIMER: Inspired by _High Fidelity_, this one took on a life of  
its own. Characters belong to CC & 1013, although Eric McHugh can  
claim to be his own. Linda is real, believe it or not.  
---  
  
There comes a time in every man's life, when he has to reconsider  
his past. The present is a indefinable, fluctuating matter, that he  
cannot quite grasp. He will walk around for a few weeks wondering  
whether he has hit the mid-life crisis, but then he remembers his  
old history teacher's wise words: to understand the present, you must  
know the past. It may not be an original notion, but it kinda makes  
sense. So, the worried guy will grab his old address book from  
college and start phoning 'round.  
  
I like to think that I have achieved a certain degree of success in  
my life. I work as a lawyer for a company which offers good chances  
for career advancement. I make a fair amount of money on the stock  
market. I know my Dvorak from my Phillip Glass and I even own a  
tastefully decorated apartment. I have an ex-wife who hates me  
bitterly and a boy aged 8 who worships me, baseball, and Will Smith  
(although not necessarily in that order). However, when my current  
girlfriend left me for another woman, I started to crack. I started  
therapy to analyze my masculinity, but when the therapist wanted to  
talk about my childhood, I left. I don't want to be told that I've  
always had a crush on my mother. I'm just not that sort of guy,  
y'know?  
  
So I remembered my old teacher's words and started to make phone  
calls. Some people were dead easy to find - they had never moved  
away from the apartments they'd bought straight after college. One  
guy - I forget his name - was still married to his high school  
sweetheart and worked as a lecturer at our old College. I remember  
feeling happy after having talked to him. I had at least done better  
than him. I had moved on. Others were harder to find. Such as Dana  
Scully.  
  
---  
  
Eric McHugh sat in a small cubicle of a room in the middle of  
Washington DC and waited. He had been waiting for nearly twenty  
minutes and whereas he had never considered himself to be  
claustrophobic, there was just something about a room with no  
windows. He was sure that the room was bugged - this was the FBI  
after all.  
  
It was still hard to believe that his soft-hearted, giggling  
girlfriend of yesteryear, Dana Scully, had become an FBI agent. He  
remembered her fondly as the girl he had spent an entire summer with  
up by the lake. She had been amazed that he couldn't swim, and he had  
been amazed that she had never tasted Chardonnay. It had been a good  
summer, but then he had met Linda. Tall, blonde with an attitude. Oh  
well. But he had liked Dana. She was a lot of fun and had a few  
braincells to spare. He should've married her instead of Linda.  
  
Looking at his watch, Eric couldn't help wondering why it took her  
so long to come pick him up. She had sounded friendly enough on the  
telephone, although she was surprised to hear from him. When he had  
casually mentioned that he was coming to Washington to do some  
interviews for a position within his firm, she had just as casually  
invited him out for lunch. And now as twenty minutes had passed, he  
had quietly begun to reconsider his moves. Perhaps _she_ had dumped  
_him_ this time around.  
  
"Is he in there? Why didn't you tell me, Kelly?"  
  
A voice he easily categorized as an irritated Dana Scully flowed into  
the cubicle. Eric grinned to himself. Dana had been a sweetie, but  
she had always had quite a temper.  
  
The door cracked open and a tiny woman stepped in. Eric struggled at  
first to recognize her. Her hair was fiery red as always, but tamed  
with what he could tell was a expensive haircut. She wore a black  
suit, which certainly was a change from the wooly, knitted cardigans  
she had worn during college. Her face was drawn and pale, but with  
well-applied make-up. The biggest change was her body. He certainly  
hadn't seen her heavily pregnant before, and for a second he felt  
irritated that she hadn't told him. He didn't know what he had  
expected, and he certainly didn't feel like examining his inner  
motives right now.  
  
"Eric? You haven't changed a bit!"  
  
He laughed.  
  
"You're a shameless flatterer, Dana. I know I've aged horrendously.  
You look marvelous on the contrary. And congratulations, by the way"  
  
She looked slightly confused at first, but caressed the belly with a  
sheepish grin. No wedding ring, he noticed.  
  
"Yeah, we've both aged, Eric. A lot of things have changed. Listen,  
I'm starving, so let me just get my jacket and we'll be out of here.  
Sorry about keeping you waiting."  
  
"No nonsense as always. You haven't changed that much Dana."  
  
As a reply, she shot him one of her trademark eyebrow lifts and he  
couldn't help chuckling. Nope, she really hadn't changed.  
  
Dana waltzed down the corridor with him trotting behind her. He shot  
a few curious looks around him, but the Hoover building seemed like  
any other office building. People in suits standing around water-  
coolers chatting. He might as well be back at work. Eric noticed a  
few curious glances being returned, most noticeably by a tall, bald  
guy. That guy seemed almost hostile.  
  
Eric leaned against a wall as Dana went into an office to get her  
things. Apparently the office was too messy for anybody else to  
see but herself. To Eric's ears, the excuse had seemed feeble,  
as Dana had always been a bit of a neat freak. But, time had passed  
and things might just be different. He enjoyed looking around,  
anyway. Knowledge of the Hoover building's interior design could come  
in handy one day, if he decided to write that spy-thriller he had  
planned for so long.  
  
Dana reappeared wearing a jacket that she could obviously not close  
anymore. Eric was puzzled. This didn't not fit very well with the  
rest of her stylish, if restrained look. She closed the door and  
proceeded to lock it with three different keys.  
  
"Safety precautions".  
  
Dana must've seen the look on his face. She continued.  
  
"It's weird really. I mean, people will get into our .. my .. office  
if they want, but at least I feel slightly more safe with the door  
being locked."  
  
She looked up at Eric's puzzled expression.  
  
"Nevermind. It's a long story."  
  
Eric was beginning to wonder about Dana and her changed life. Too  
many things didn't add up. He had noticed her slip of tongue, when  
she talked about 'our office'. And then her jacket. Her drawn face.  
And that tall, bald guy that had kinda scared him.  
  
"Let's go attack that lunch, Dana. I can't wait to hear what you've  
been up to."  
  
---  
  
As it turned out, neither were particularly hungry, so they ended up  
in a coffee shop instead. Eric bought a doughnut for Dana, which she  
happily bit into.  
  
"It's horrible, but I think I'm getting addicted to chocolate  
doughnuts."  
  
"I think it's alright, Dana. After all, you're eating for two."  
  
Dana's face darkened slightly, before she took another sip of her  
latte.  
  
"Yeah, that's right. I'm eating for two. Sometimes I forget that."  
  
Another piece to the puzzle, and this one didn't fit particularly  
well either.  
  
"I mean, when Linda was expecting Jonathan.."  
  
"Linda? The blonde girl?"  
  
"Yup. My ex-wife."  
  
She nodded, but didn't say anything. He decided to be a bit more  
blunt.  
  
"So, if you don't mind telling me.. who's the father?"  
  
She shot him a quick look, before starting to study her nails.  
  
"Another long story, Eric. My life's full of those."  
  
"Well, Dana. I have nothing better to do today. I have all the time  
in the world. Tell me your long stories."  
  
She snorted.  
  
"You'd never believe me."  
  
"How do you know? I know you. You're Dana K. Scully. I used to write  
you poems. And you said you liked them. You're the most reliable  
person I know."  
  
For some weird reason, Dana Scully snorted again.  
  
---  
  
So there I was. In a lovely coffee shop with a pregnant Dana Scully.  
A very different Dana Scully to the one I used to date, but still  
someone I was strangely connected with. I mean, she still laughed at  
my awful jokes. I remember her looking straight into my eyes as she  
said:  
  
"If you want stories, you got stories. What do you want to know?"  
  
And I replied: "Well, where's the daddy?"  
  
---  
  
Dana Scully looked straight in the blue eyes of the man she had once  
been in love with.  
  
"He's been abducted by aliens. I believe he is currently hanging  
above earth being experimented on, because he may be partially alien  
himself. And the government is busy covering its ass."  
  
And Eric McHugh laughed.  
  
---  
  
I mean, what would you have said? What would you do? A former  
girlfriend of yours, who you have always described as being  
'straightlaced, honest and the most reliable person I have ever  
known' tells you that the father of her kid is an alien. And so  
I laughed. One hell of a joke.  
  
---  
  
And Eric McHugh laughed.  
  
After a while Dana started to smile too.  
  
"Sorry, Eric. You should've seen the look on your face."  
  
"S'kay, Dana. So, tell me. Who's the lucky bastard?"  
  
"His name is Mulder."  
  
"Hell of a name. Hope you're not naming the kid after him."  
  
She finished her chocolate doughnut.  
  
"He's an FBI agent too."  
  
"So you met on an assignment? Sounds romantic, if a bit  
unconventional. I thought you weren't allowed to fool around with  
fellow agents?"  
  
She seemed to consider this for a while.  
  
"Unconventional is a good word. It describes Mulder rather well."  
  
I nodded, encouraging her to continue.  
  
"We did meet on an assignment, but it was one of those casual  
assignments where it didn't really matter who your fellow agent was."  
  
Eric nodded in consent, knowing exactly what she was talking about.  
  
"One of them tax operations or fraud things?"  
  
"Something like that, yeah."  
  
"So where is he now?"  
  
She motioned for the check.  
  
"He's on a mission. In the middle of nowhere, really. Might take him  
a bit of time to get home. So I worry about that a bit and fret too  
much over small things."  
  
"I understand."  
  
---  
  
Dana asked me over for dinner. She said that some company would  
be nice and suggested we could talk about old days. I found myself  
declining. She was a smart girl - always had been - and quite a  
pretty thing too, but I must admit that she seemed a bit boring. A  
disappointment, really. Perhaps I had secretly hoped for some sort of  
reunion. And if not a reunion, then some inside information I could  
use for my book. Not a scoop, just some gossip. She couldn't provide  
me with any of that. I know I sound like an ass, but one thing my  
brief sessions of therapy did teach me was that honesty is the way  
to go.  
  
So, to be honest I did feel a teeny bit jealous when Dana greeted a  
dark-haired man at the front of the Hoover building with a mysterious  
smile. Perhaps that was Mulder, but then she would probably have  
introduced him to me. Besides, not many FBI agents wear black leather  
jackets to work - or perhaps they do. I mean, I hadn't expected to  
see a heavily pregnant FBI agent either. And what was a forensic  
pathologist doing working on a tax case? And what kind of name is  
Mulder?  
  
Anyway, I am now on my way back to Chicago. I have another old friend  
to meet. Who knows. Perhaps I really have made more out of my life  
than the others. It's a nice thought. Perhaps I should phone Linda.  
  
---  
Feedback at: tinka100@hotmail.com  
  



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